The Schuyler Confessions
by Girl From Another World
Summary: A series of letters written from Eliza to Alexander describing her experience of their marriage. She depicts how he got her to love a bastard orphan from a Caribbean island in a time of patriarchal capitalism, and all the ups and downs of their time together. These letters contain lyrics from the hit play. I do not own these lyrics, lyrics credits go to Lin-Manuel Miranda.
1. Letter 1 - The Meeting

All these letters are written from Eliza to Alexander three months after the Reynolds Pamphlet was published in August 1797. Eventually they will change to be written in a different time, maybe after Philip's death, or Alexander's death.

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My Dearest Alexander,

1780\. A winter's ball.

Resigned to myself in the corner of the room, alone, sitting on an ancient chair, nursing the drink in my hand. For the sixteenth time in the past two minutes, I tried to catch another glimpse of you. You were talking to my sister, Angelica, and it tore another rip in my heart every time you laughed at her astute and quick-witted one-liners. What I hadn't known that night, was that every time I looked down, both you and she would take discreet glances over to my lone self. And then my selfless sister took it into her own hands to introduce us. And begin our tragically successful relationship.

I had finally convinced myself to stop stealing glances at you when I saw the salmon pink hem of Angelica's dress brushing the floor. My eyes darted up instantly, and landed, ironically, on your face. We were so young back then, but neither naive to the workings of the world. I placed my drink on the tiny table next to me, and stood to greet you in the ladylike way I had been taught when I was six.

"Eliza, this is Alexander Hamilton." Angelica told me, watching me with the smirk I had grown accustomed to. I bowed my head and curtsied.

"Elizabeth Schuyler." I introduced myself formally for you. Your intelligent face held a flicker of confusion for a moment before returning to its usual calculated self.

"My sister." Angelica explained, unknowing that you had already worked it out for yourself. You held out your hand for me to take, and I took it without a moment's hesitation. Unlike other men's hands of your age, yours was already worn and calloused from working from a young age. But it felt safer than any other man's hand I had held before. You bent down and pressed your warm lips against my knuckles. It felt like you had knocked the breath out of my lungs. Angelica noticed my overwhelmed expression and her smirk grew wider.

"If it takes fighting a war for us to meet, it will have been worth it." You said smoothly, your astounding violet-blue eyes staring straight into my simple brown ones. I'm afraid I may have let out a small gasp, and I regretted it immediately, feeling I had let my composure slip. But your previously composed face broke into a grin, and it was hard not to fall for you after seeing that smile.

I strove to make you smile from that day onward. It was the second part of you that I truly fell in love with. The first being your legendary way with words. For others it meant hard competition. They saw your writings: in newspapers, in speeches, in Washington's letters, in declarations. They were everywhere, running red hot like a fever through the streets of New York. But I was one of the few who could actually _hear_ your words. You saved those for me, your unpractised conversations. Everything you said flowed and danced off of your tongue before crashing into the air, like a river running off of a cliff in an uncontained waterfall. They could be angry rampant rants, filled with contempt and fury you didn't know how to handle out loud. Mostly they were just you, simply talking, to me, to our children, to my family. You would speak like it had already been practised, like you were an actor in a show, having learnt your lines off of a previously memorised script. There were only a few times when I saw you either speechless or struggle for your words. One, when I was pregnant with our first child. You were filled with rage for Washington, being sent home from the war you wanted so badly to prove yourself in. You stormed into the house, poor John Laurens behind you, trying vainly to convince you that it would work out. But the moment you saw me, you stopped dead. Like you had seen a ghost. I was five months pregnant, and my stomach had bulged large enough for it to be obvious that I was with child by that time. I thought you were processing what had happened, the confusion making you take a second before you would start talking. You always filled a silence with speech, too many silent and lonely days as a child and teenager left you craving noise and activity. It was only after a few moments that I realised you were actually speechless. You had no idea what to say. It was only once John closed the door behind you that you stuttered out a question.

But that memory's for another letter. Where was I? Oh, the winter's Ball. You had rendered me speechless with your charm, inducing Angelica to take that as her cue to walk away.

"I'll leave you to it." She said slyly. My eyes widened in panic, begging her not to leave us alone. I know you'll deny it dear, but you can practically feel the ambition radiating off of you. And its presence left me slightly in awe and feeling a bit useless. She ignored my plea for help, despite also acknowledging that it was there, and left us.

"Would you like to dance?" You asked immediately, not letting a moment slip away.

"I would like that very much." I answered, accepting your hand. You pulled me into the centre of the room and we danced for timeless hours. Admittedly, your dancing was flawed, but I did not mind. I could see your friends laughing at you on the other side of the room, but I knew that you didn't care. You had pride, sure, but you left your pride for your other talents, you didn't waste it on something you knew you would never master. And you never did master dancing entirely.

We talked while we danced. Only once did either of our families get mentioned, when you made a simple remark that it seemed like my sister may take over the world someday. I agreed. You knew exactly what to say, and when to say it. You worded everything just right, and I fell in love with your ability to make any troubles leave my mind instantly. At one point I spotted Peggy leave the room with Laurens and expressed discomfort with that. Immediately you rushed to settle that discomfort. And I believed you instantly when you said that Laurens was a gentleman who would never try to steal a woman's virtue. It scared me a little bit the utter control you held over me. However eventually I concluded that you were not feeding me lies to gain any favour with me, but you were simply telling the truth. You were not one to lie.

After a while we left the overly large mansion to go for a walk in the begrudgingly nice gardens. I kept my arm tucked in yours for the night, and kept my body pressed against your side. Never once did you take advantage of this positioning, which only increased my trust in you. But you never moved your body away from mine. I won't lie to you Alexander, I did flirt with you that night, and you made me laugh with your witty jokes. I looked up at the crescent moon surrounded by glinting stars in an infinitely black sky, and I saw a future with you. We sat on the benches at one point. Do you remember? For one single ten seconds you were silent, allowing us to admire the stubborn flowers against the white light of the moon. You then told me that the light the moon seemed to give off was not in fact from the moon itself, but was simply reflecting the light of the sun back onto our dark night. I informed you that I already knew this, and you seemed to become even more excited at the fact that I had received a good education. Finally someone who you could bounce your similarly late, but good education off of. You went on to tell me that one day you hoped to be like the light that the moon reflected. Appearing from nowhere to give light on certain things. This is how you introduced me to your obsession with legacy. I spotted immediately, in the way that you stared fascinatedly at the moon that your fixation on being remembered would become a huge problem in the future.

But in those ten seconds that you were silent for, while you looked on with admiration at the flowers in the moonlight, I looked at you. I looked at your young but wise face and saw a boy who had had to grow up too quickly. Someone who longed for life in all its grandness and wanted to experience everything it threw at him. I saw someone who had lived alone for so long that he was scared eventually he would fade into the background and disappear completely. You were someone who wanted to leave your mark on this world. To leave and be remembered. But above all, I saw someone who wanted to be loved. You were so eager to impress and surround yourself with people who would adore you. I saw a man that had experienced the effects of being pushed away, shoved onto the side lines to fend for themselves. Someone who would never let that happen to themselves or anyone they loved ever again. So when someone showed the slightest hostility towards you, you immediately shut them out. You let them know that you and they were enemies now. And you would rarely forgive them.

John Laurens and Lafayette, escorting Peggy and Angelica on their arms found us in the gardens. And it was my time to leave. You asked me in front of all of them if you could write to me, completely fearless in front of a crowd. I told you I'd love that, your lack of fear spurring me on in return. Behind us Peggy giggled and Laurens stifled a laugh into a cough. You three escorted us back into our carriage, and as I let go of your hand after you helped me up the steps (something I am completely capable of by the way, but I had been told by my mother many a time that I woman is never to let go of a man's hand when assistance is required) it felt like I was only pressing pause in our relationship.

That was the night my world turned upside down, my dear Alex. You swept me off my feet with everything you said, and I practically jumped into your arms.

Love your Eliza

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Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed it, and constructive criticism is invited.


	2. Letter 2 - The Blessing

Hey, so I forgot to mention that I will be updating maybe every Wednesday and Sunday? However I'm unwell today with nothing to do, so I decided to post today instead. In this letter Eliza tells Alexander about her feelings when he asked her Father for his blessing.

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My Dearest Alexander,

I received a lot of letters from you in our years together. The most memorable ones being those that I received throughout our courtship. Every word you wrote left me senseless and pining for you. They left me leaping for joy in the small confinements of my room, and also heartbroken within my inexperienced heart from fear that I would not be allowed to marry you. Halfway through our courtship (which was a short one even for normal standards), I had decided that if my Father denied you permission to marry me, then we would elope. Something that would be hard to convince you of, as you would refuse to let me rid myself of a perfect family when you knew what it was like to live a life without one. But with every letter and every visit from you, it was becoming harder and harder to imagine a life without you in it. You had flipped my perfect jigsaw piece of a life, flipped it, and tried to fit it back into a mould that it just didn't fit anymore. And I didn't regret a single bit of it.

On our last date before you asked my Father for my hand, you announced your plans to me. You would ask my Father that weekend, at a small dinner he was holding for you and Angelica's suitor, the rich British businessman you hate so much. He invited Laurens as well, do you remember? My Mother had heard rumours of his and Peggy's supposed courting, and they wanted to meet the man for themselves. He declined the offer though, you never told me why.

When you told me you wanted to marry me, I practically knocked you over with my embrace. I was delighted that you were actually willing to make a life with me. But moments after my attack on you, you gently pushed me off and held my hands. You said,

"I fear your Father may not wish for me to marry you." You didn't need to explain why. I had seen where you lived, and I knew everything about your past by that point. You were poorer than poor, with John paying your share of the rent for your shared apartment on top of a pawn shop. I told you that I didn't care.

"Eliza, I don't have a dollar to my name, an acre of land, a troop to command, a dollop of fame." You told me as we walked to my house through the park. The sun was beginning to set, and I feared that I would not make it home before sundown. "All I have is my honour, a tolerance for pain, a couple of college credits and my top-notch brain." I gave you a gentle pinch as you raised your own ego in a self-deprecating way. You grinned back at me and continued, "Insane, your family brings out a different side of me. Peggy confides in me, Angelica tried to take a bite of me." I frowned at that and the world around me spun as the fear I'd heard since _Angelica_ introduced me to you became true. You wrapped your free hand around my hand that was tucked into the crook of your arm. "No stress." You reminded me, and the world around me stopped spinning as your infinite capability to calm me came in handy. "My love for you is never in doubt. We'll get a little place in Harlem and we'll figure it out." We both smiled then at the thought of a future together in which our walks wouldn't have a curfew and we wouldn't have to be secretive when we kissed each other.

"I've been livin' without a family since I was a child." he said, looking down at the dark pavement beneath our feet. "My father left, my mother died, I grew up buck wild. But I'll never forget my mother's face, that was real." I put my hand under his chin and lifted it so that I could look into his eyes. In them I saw sorrow and longing, along with a deep pain that never left. But next to that I saw desire and a promise to keep me safe for as long as we both lived. "And as long as I'm alive, Eliza, swear to god you'll never feel so helpless."

In that moment I kissed you Alex. I kissed you in a way I never had before. It was filled with love and promise of a better life to come, of a future together, where we would face everything hand in hand and never let go.

But you did let go. You let go and left a ghost of a hand in mine. You deluded me for three years that we were still facing everything like we had in the beginning. I know you still loved me. But you let me think that I was enough, when I wasn't. You made me feel helpless. And for that I cannot forgive you Alex.

Love Elizabeth Schuyler-Hamilton

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I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I know it was a short one compared to the first one, but I hope it was still good. ;-)


	3. Letter 3 - The Proposal

**Hey. Sorry this is late on a Sunday, I've had a long two days and this is the only moment I've found to publish. I know it's short again, from here on hopefully they'll get longer. Hope you enjoy it!**

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Dear Alexander,

You kept me a long time waiting, you know that? That night when you asked for my Father's permission for my hand in marriage. You were in the drawing room for two excessively long hours. With your fast words and quick wit, I never thought that you would be one to keep me waiting. But you definitely did that night. My sisters and I sat in the parlour while you and my Father talked. Well, they sat, I paced up and down…..for two hours. Eventually Peggy got sick of my wandering and told me to sit down because it was making her fret. Angelica told her that one day she too would experience a man making her feel the same way you make me feel, too which Peggy smirked in an un-Peggy-like-way, and went back to her book. I realise now that that probably had something to do with Laurens. He does keep popping, doesn't he?

Eventually you and Father exited the drawing room. The moment I heard the door open I rushed into the hallway to find him shaking your hand, and he said, "Be true." My heart leapt for joy hearing those words and seeing the smile on your face, and his. My Father left to get two glasses of whiskey for you two to toast our marriage. And when he had clearly left I jumped at you and let you pull me into your arms. You spun me around in a celebratory embrace, and I pressed my face into your shoulder. It was the safest I'de ever felt.

When I was back down on my feet, you pulled a ring box out of your pocket. I frowned at it, wandering where on earth you would have found the money to pay for a ring. You put your hand to my cheek and stroked my cheekbone with your thumb, trying to remove my frown.

"An early pay rise from Washington." You whispered. You opened the box and slipped the ring onto my finger before I could even get a look at it. You always were very forward about everything, and there was no way you were letting me get away from you.

To this day I'm still not entirely sure how you managed to pick out a ring. You never cared for clothes or jewellery. You had grown up without fineries, and had learned that appearances never define a person. So how you managed to decide on a ring is beyond me, but I figure that Angelica had something to do with it.

You know I still wear it today? Even though I cannot fathom how you managed to break a bond you made to me all those years ago, you broke it, and I cannot do anything except hold onto the threads that are left and hope than one day we can piece it back together. The silver band with one stone in it. Simple but elegant, much like me you used to say. You don't say that anymore. You don't say anything anymore really. You write everything down, for everyone to see apparently. Yes, that was me being bitter Alexander, my love. But I have every reason to be, don't I?

Anyway, you placed that ring on my finger, and before I knew it you had disappeared again with my Father. But later that night, as you were leaving, and I said goodbye to you out on the porch steps. Even as I stood on the top step and you on the one below, you were taller than me. I looked up at your face and you bent down to press a kiss to my cheek (a scandalous move I understand). But you put your hands on my arms and whispered a thousand promises into my ear. Promises to love me, and cherish me, and to never lose sight of what we had. You told me that we were all that mattered, and nothing would ever come between us.

I remember every single one of those promises Alex. Every single one. I think you forgot a few along the way.

Yours always

Eliza

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 **Did you like it? Remember reviews are always welcome! I'll post the next chapter on Wednesday. Happy Reading!**


	4. Letter 4 - The Wedding

**Hey! So this is a longer chapter this time. It tells the story of Eliza and Alexander's wedding, and Eliza's feelings during that day. I hope you enjoy it!**

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Dearest Alex,

I remember the day we got married. I remember from the moment I woke up to Peggy crying that it was the end of an era and Angelica drying her tears with a besotted but fond smile, to the moment you took me to bed and showed me what I'd been missing out on all those years of avoiding men.  
It's been running through my head a lot recently, the day our true adventure started.

We were married at my parents' house, seeing as you had no family to pay for the wedding (as per tradition), and it was still a profoundly beautiful day. I remember watching Peggy walk up the aisle first, with John Laurens, your best man of course (I never did figure those two out). Then Angelica, my maid of honour, followed, being escorted by Lafayette. And then my father and I came up last. I had been nervous the whole morning, scared that Laurens would convince you to run away with him instead, or that I would spill something on my dress or something, anything, would go wrong. But the moment I walked up that aisle and saw you, everything just stopped. The white noise in my head went silent, and everyone around us seemed to disappear. I wasn't even aware of my father placing my hand in yours. All I knew was that you were there, in front of me, and you were holding my hand, and everything was good.

It was a short service, and before I knew it you were placing my ring back onto my finger (my sister had given it to you the day before, remember? I hadn't been allowed to see you), and I was placing yours onto your finger. Then the priest said "You may kiss the bride." and your lips were tenderly against mine, and I could hear Laurens whooping in the background. That kiss was filled with a thousand promises. To love and to cherish and to be faithful until we lay on our death beds. I returned those promises eagerly in my kiss. I couldn't have cared that you were poor, or war was imminent, or you were seemingly angry at many things in the world, because I was your wife, and that was all I'd wanted for what felt like a very long time.

Then we were dancing in my parents' ballroom, and you stepped on my toes every now and then but I didn't care because finally I could be in your arms without people gossiping, or receiving warning stares from my sisters and my mother. Eventually, when the night was up and it was time for us to leave, you pulled me outside and we slipped into a carriage without a fuss. No big send off or parade, I simply kissed my mother and sisters goodbye, and Laurens whispered something into your ear that made you blush and stutter back a retort.

You later told me that he made you a promise, a wedding present of sorts. One that you'd never be able to repay. But one that you knew he'd keep.

When we were finally in our carriage, alone and away, only then did you lean over and whisper into my ear "I love you." And for that I was extremely grateful. You saved those three words that meant the most to me for the moment when I was feeling most vulnerable, when I was leaving my home and venturing onto a new one. I turned to you and mouthed it back, and you smiled a greater smile than I had ever seen on your face. I surprised you then with a stronger kiss than we had ever had before. One of your hands reached up to cup my face, while the other tenderly (and hesitantly may I add. Who ever thought that the brazen Mr Hamilton may be hesitant?) held my waist. I wrapped my arms around your neck, and twisted one of my hands into the auburn-red hair at the nape of your neck.

We arrived at our new house only twenty minutes later, as it was only on the other side of town, closer to your work. You helped me out of the carriage like the gentleman you were, and pulled me into your side as we gazed up at our house in the moonlight. Our first house was small, wasn't it? And my parents had to help you pay for it, seeing as you were still a poor man. But we couldn't have cared less about any of that. It was _ours_. Our own home. You took me to the front step, unlocked the door, and swept me off my feet. Picking me up and carrying me in. I'm scared to admit that I may have squealed when you did that, but you surprised me and it was the last I expected you to do. It's times like that that I remember most fondly. The ones where you are your least composed and we both smile like tomorrow isn't a day where we have to face a new opponent. Make me smile like that again Alexander. I beg of you.

You asked me if I wanted to see the rest of the house. But I shook my head and replied that I thought that that could wait until tomorrow. You grinned at me, knowing that we were on the same page, and whisked me up the stairs, still in your arms.

I remember trying to get your clothes off of you, and struggling to undo those hundreds of unnecessary brass buttons doing up your jacket. You married me in your army uniform, a requirement I grant you. But a painful one at that. It was simply another reminder that it would not be long after our marriage that you would be going off to fight in a war. You helped me out of my dress and then we were both under the covers, breathing heavily. My head was lying on your chest, and we were silent for once, until you couldn't hold the silence for any longer.

"You know I love you, right?" I hid a smile by pushing my face into your chest, and mumbled back a reply. You leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of my head, and we fell asleep in that position.

As a girl, I'd grown up knowing that one day I would have to marry. And yes, I have brothers, so I knew that it was not up to me to marry a rich business man whom I loathed. However I always imagined that I would have to marry a man of substantial power and influence. I never dreamed that I would get to marry a man I was completely in love with. You made me feel important, like I was a valuable part in our new nation despite me being a woman.

You loved me back then Alexander. And then in a flurry of words you made me feel like another piece of paper you had tossed in the bin because it did not do what you wanted it to.

Once yours

Elizabeth Schuyler

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 **Remember reviews are very welcome. I haven't had any so far, and I'm desperate for writing improvements or notes to boost my self-esteem. I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Look out for the next one on Sunday.**


	5. Letter 5 - The Pregnancy

**Hey guys, did you like the last chapter? This one's longer, so I hope you enjoy it. In this letter, Eliza tells Alexander her side of the day he come home from the war, after Washington sent him away. On this day Eliza tells him that she's pregnant, this is how Alex reacted.  
I hope you enjoy it!**

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Dear Alexander Hamilton

I never lied to you know? You were the centre piece in my life and I could never find the courage to be disloyal to you in that way. However I did withhold information from you many a time. The most prominent of those times being when I didn't tell you that I was pregnant while you were at war. We wrote to each other every day, and still, I didn't tell you. I wrote to Washington the day I found out. I told our first president before I told you. I begged him to send you home, knowing that you would either die fighting in the war, or not come home until the war was over, in which case I feared would be after I gave birth, and I wanted you there so badly.

Most women would call me selfish for removing you from your job to make myself feel safer. But I never did it for myself. I did it all for you, my love. You deserved every chance to see your child.

The day you came home after Washington sent you home, mostly because I asked him to, but also because you had been duelling (foolishly and pointlessly if you asked me, but your pride will be the death of you Alex. And that night it could have been the death of John Laurens.), I hadn't known you were coming home. It was a simple Tuesday afternoon, and Martha our maid opened the door when it rung, I was sewing in the parlour. I heard Laurens' voice first, he was trying to convince you that your chance was not over, another one would come and you would get to fight. I stood up and left the room, walking into the hallway to greet you. Momentarily, I had forgotten that I was visibly pregnant, I just wanted to see you.

We were only three feet apart when I walked into the hallway, coming face to face with you. My heart leapt when I saw you, as if you'd come home from a long holiday and I'd simply missed you. And then I saw your stunned face and everything came crashing back down on me. I prepared myself for a torrent of questions and a lot of shouting. Instead I got silence. Pure and utter silence. We locked eyes and neither of us looked away until you managed to stutter out a question.

"How long have you known?"

"A month or so." I whispered. Your face dropped, as if I'd betrayed you in a way no one else could,

"Eliza, you should have told me." You moaned, your head dropping into your hands.

"I wrote to the general a month ago." I admitted, my voice getting stronger. Your hands dropped and you looked visibly pained, making a small dagger twist a hole into my heart.

"No." You objected, your voice getting louder with mine.

"I begged him to send you home." I continued, deciding that you deserved to know why you had been sent home. I took a step towards you, and you took one back, as if you could not bear to be near me. Your wife.

"You should have told me." You moaned once again, and pain rolled off of your words, but I didn't feel any guilt.

"I'm not sorry." I told you defiantly, embracing being the opposite of any other typical wife. "I knew you'd fight until the war was done."

"The war is not done." You interjected, always worried about the bigger picture. Sometimes, Alexander, you just need to look at what's in front of you.

"But you deserve a chance to meet your child." I argued. "Look around, look around at how lucky we are to be alive right now." I whispered desperately, trying to remind you of what it was that brought us together in the first place, our thankfulness for the chances we had been given.

"Will you relish being a poor man's wife? Unable to provide for your life." You whispered, playing the poor man card and my heart bled for you. You knew that I had no care for wealth.

"I relish being your wife." I told you. You looked grateful. I took a step towards you, and this time you did not move away from me. "Look at where you are. Look at where you started, the fact that you're alive is a miracle. Just stay alive, that would be enough." You dropped down onto the second step of our set of stairs in our narrow house. I sat down on the bottom step below you and took a hold of your trembling hands.

"And if this child shares a fraction of your smile, or a fragment of your mind, look out world!" I began, before whispering, "That would be enough." Still you were silent, and I attempted further to get a response out of you.

"I don't pretend to know the challenges you're facing, the worlds you keep erasing and creating in your mind." I told you, reaching up to tilt your face towards me so that you could look in my eyes. "But I'm not afraid. I know who I married. So as long as you come home at the end of the day, that would be enough."

You looked at me gratefully, as if I had been telling you everything you actually needed to hear, and that only spurred me on further.

"We don't need a legacy, we don't need money. If I could grant you peace of mind, if you could let me inside your heart." I placed my hand on your heart and your hand grasped it. You mouthed "You are.", and I almost began crying in relief.

"Let me be a part of the narrative, in the story they will write someday. let this moment be the first chapter: Where you decide to stay." I begged of you, hoping with every part of me that you would stay at home with me, and I wouldn't lose you. But I did lose you, eventually.

"And I could be enough, and we could be enough, that would be enough." I told you finally. I only wanted the simple life with you, I would settle for you.

You looked at me in a way you never had before, as if you had been waiting for me to say that for years. An untamed relief, a reprieve I provided you with. That was all you wanted too, for you to be enough for me. And you always were Alexander, my love. I think it turned out that I wasn't enough for you at the end of the day. You were growing and changing and moving up in the world, while I remained at home with our children. And that's why you slept with another woman.

When we finally lapsed into silence, although my heart was still beating wildly, you pulled me up onto my feet on the hallway floor. Tenderly, and as if you were slightly scared of hurting me, you placed both of your hands on my bloated stomach, which contained our blessed child, our beautiful Philip. I smiled and let my hands ghost over yours. We looked up at each other and our identical smiles met. You leaned in and kissed me gently, and I was reminded of everything we had before you left for the war. I thanked God with all of my heart as you kissed me, thanked him for bringing you back to me.

"Thank you." You whispered when you finally stopped kissing me. I cocked my head in confusion and you went on, "Thank you for loving me. As I am. All my flaws and weird traits, everything that other people seem to hate or abuse." I stroked your hair and replied, "And thank you for loving me. For letting me live my life without restraint in a man's world and being supportive of me. You gave me a life that I could never have dreamed of."

"And you gave me mine." You whispered, leaning your forehead against mine.

After that day you touched my stomach as much as possible, when we lay in bed you would reach over and hug me to you as if you were protecting me with your own body. You would break writing to touch our unborn child with tender and loving hands. Hands that so often would carve cruel and manipulating words into paper for Washington could be so gentle and soft when you were in control of them. That was something I always loved about you, your ability to separate yourself from your work entirely, even if it was only for a second.

I remember the night that you admitted to me that you were feared that you wouldn't be a good enough Father. We were lying in bed, and I thought you'd gone to sleep, and instead you had been lying awake letting worry and doubt take over your mind.

"I never had a Father to use an example. How can I love a child if I didn't experience that love myself?" You asked me, in one of your rare vulnerable moments, where I was reminded that you grew up on a Caribbean island and your Father left and your Mother died. I put my hand to your cheek and told you, "I think the question you should be asking isn't 'how could you love a child?', but should be 'how could you not love a child that is part you and part me?'." You looked so stunned for a moment before murmuring into my ear, "Maybe you should write for Washington. You're the one who's so good with words." I smiled, grateful for your praise, and went along with your playful banter.

"Because people cannot handle how good I write. They would simply fall at my feet if they read what I can write." You grinned.

"I think your ego's getting too big Miss Hamilton." You whispered mockingly, rising slightly in the bed to hover your body over mine.

"Is that so?" I asked before gasping as you began to press kisses to my exposed neck. "Well then, you better take it down a notch or two, shouldn't you?" A

And take down my ego that night you did.

Love your indispensable

Eliza

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 **REPLY TO GUEST COMMENT: Thank you so much! You have no idea how much a comment like that means to me. I'm thinking about writing a story on Philip and Theodosia, seeing as they're a non-canon but star-crossed couple that I can't stay away from. They'll also be a Percy Jackson one-shot up as well soon (I know, a little childish, but my guilty pleasure).**

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 **How w** **as it? Did you like it? Remember to tell me through a review. Look out for the next one on Wednesday!**


	6. Letter 6 - The Martyr

**Hey. How did you enjoy the last chapter? This one's going to be a sad one. Eliza tells the story of the day Alex found out John Lauren's died, and how he reacted.  
Enjoy!**

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My dearest Alexander,

The day your best friend died was the first time I saw you cry.  
The maid had brought up the letters from the mailbox that morning, and my eyes landed upon an unusual letter for you. It was addressed to you in a messy handwriting, something we didn't receive often, seeing as all of your letters came from Congress or Washington. You seldom received letters that were of social matters. In the top left hand corner, it said that it was from a Henry Laurens. John's father. My heart stopped, and I knew without having to look what the letter would contain. Slowly, I made my way up the stairs to your study, trying to work out what I would say to you. I walked into your office and took a deep breath.

"Alexander? There's a letter for you." I started, my voice giving away that something wasn't right in its tremble. You looked up from your writing and took a quick glance at my concerned face, and then to the letter.

"It's from John Laurens. I'll read it later." You dismissed it, returning to your ever growing pile of work. I swallowed.

"No. It's from his father." I said in a low undertone, scared that if I said it loud enough, my voice would break. I watched helplessly as your back tensed up and your whole body froze.  
"His father?" You asked. My silence told you what you already knew, and you turned around to look at me properly. "Will you read it?" You asked. For few others I would have read a letter that informed us of a death. But for you, my Alexander, I would do anything. I took a deep breath and began.

"On Tuesday the 27th, my son was killed in a gunfight against British troops retreating from South Carolina. The war was already over. As you know, John dreamed of emancipating and recruiting 3000 men for the first all-black military regiment. His dream of freedom for these men dies with him."

I looked up from the letter and saw your rigid posture, with a matching hard set to your eyes.

"Alexander, are you alright?" I asked you softly, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. You turned away from me, shrugging my hand off of your shoulder, and began to write with renewed vigour. Your pen scratching the page so mercilessly and heavily that I feared you would either rip a hole in the page, or break the pen.

"I have so much work to do." You told me in a strained but firm voice. Dismissing me. I stood in your study for a minute, unsure of what to do, before I decided to leave you, and give you a while to work out what you were feeling.

It's probably one of my greatest regrets, leaving you in that small, dark room, alone with your desperate feelings for the rest of the day. You refused to take lunch that day, and ate dinner in your study, without me. I waited up for you that night, waiting for you to leave your study and come to bed. It got to midnight and you were still in there, I could hear your pen scratching away at more paper. That was when I got fed up.

"Will you ever stop writing?" I asked in frustration, as I stormed into your study at half past midnight. You turned around, your violet-blue eyes dark and cold in the light of the dim candle-light.

"You have no right to burst into here." You said coldly, playing the 'husband is in charge' card. I frowned in sadness at you, both of us acknowledging that that was beneath you.

"I have every right to be concerned about my husband. Do you know why?" I hissed. "Because on our wedding day we committed ourselves to each other. We promised to always care for and love each other. So when you receive news that your best friend has died, and then refuse to leave your study all day, and I don't see a notion of emotion from you. That is when I become concerned."

"What do you want me to do?" You shouted, some emotion finally leaving you. You stood up, your chair scratching the floor and making a noise that hurt my ears. "Do you want me to spend my whole day blubbering and crying around the house? Hmmm? You know that's not what Laurens would want."

I stepped forward and placed a hand on your chest, attempting to calm you down.

"John Laurens would want you to show that you cared. And spending your whole day writing about Government matters is not showing that you loved him." I whispered. My tender actions must have broken your emotionless facade, because I saw your eyes soften and your shoulders hunch in despair.

"It hurts so much." You admitted eventually, your voice showing that you were close to tears.

"I know." I replied, my voice a bare whisper.

"I thought that I wasn't going to lose anyone else." You whispered, in a moment of vulnerability. "I thought that my time of losing those that I love was over. I expected to fight many more battles with him."

"Some things we cannot change." I murmured, leaning myself against your chest, and letting you wrap your arms around me. After a couple of moments your body started to shake, and I recognised that you were crying. I pulled away from you and stroked your cheek. You pushed your face into my hand. I wiped your tears off of your cheekbone and began to lead you out of the study and into our room.

Together we lay on our bed, and I let you cry until you ran out of tears. You had lain your head on my stomach, letting me stroke your hair. It was an affectionate embrace, one reliant on a mutual trust and love. Until that moment, I had not realised how close you and John were. I wish now that I'd paid more attention to your friendship so that I could've reminded you of some of your and John's good times. Unfortunately I had few to offer.

We fell asleep in that position, and woke up like that. I remember you sat up, groggy-eyed and confused. Then it hit you, and you experienced everything that ran through you last night all over again. You didn't cry, but I watched as your shoulders hunched and your hands came up to cover your face. I wrapped my arms around you in a tight embrace, attempting vainly to comfort you. Instead you got up off the bed and went into the side room, where Philip was crying in his cot. You picked him up and sat down in the rocking chair with him. You calmed each other down. I left you two together and got dressed, half an hour later you were still in there, with Philip curled up against your shoulder. You looked at peace with him there, and I wondered how you could ever have doubted that you wouldn't be able to love your child.

That was the first time I saw you cry, surprisingly, nearly three years into our relationship. But it certainly wasn't the last.

Love your Eliza Hamilton

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 **So? What did you think? I imagine that's how he reacted in real life, a soldier masking his tears behind endless words of different matters. Anyway, remember to give me as review! Look out for the next update on Sunday!**


	7. Letter 7 - The Relapse

**Hey Guys! So this chapter tells the story of George Washington's resignation, and the discovery that Philip has a crush on a certain Burr. Hope you enjoy!**

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My dearest Alexander,

Although you're ambitious beyond belief, you were never an aggressive person. Preferring to ruin your enemies through paper and pen, rather than showing your physically imposing side. I had always found it hard to understand how the man who brought me flowers on our first date, and used outdated pick-up lines on me to make me laugh was capable of the things that made you famous.  
To me, you'll always be the 23 year old soldier who took me on walks in the park, ignoring the jibes of your fellow comrades as they spotted us sitting on a bench together.

But, as much as I like to ignore it, you do have a temper Alexander. A fiery rage that could bring men to their knees in front of you, and won you many battles in the courtroom. I did not see it often though. My calm outlook on life kept you reigned in, and your time with our children kept you composed and joyful.

However, I couldn't avoid your wrath forever.  
The day Washington resigned was one of the few times that you shouted at me. You were not angry at me, my love, I get that. But you were so furious at the world for taking away the perfect position you had finally found yourself in. You would practically have to re-do everything you'd already done to get yourself known.

You came home later than usual, having spent a long time perfecting George's resignation proclamation. And then you walked home instead of using the carriage to give yourself some time to think. It turned out that all you did in those thirty minutes of thinking was rile yourself up, instead of calming yourself down.

I was teaching Philip and Angelica when you arrived home. Philip was fourteen at the time, and infinitely intelligent for his age. Angelica on the other hand has always been a bit away with the fairies, the complete juxtaposition of her namesake. Fortunately, Philip, despite having your ambition and showing signs of your temper, has always held a special spot for his first sister, and was willing to slow his studies to help her.

You stormed in, slamming the door behind you and marching straight up the stairs to your study. Both Philip and I turned around from the dining room table curiously, to see why on earth you were making such a racket. But you were up those stairs before we could even catch a glimpse of you. I decided to finish the children's lesson before going to consult you, and so half an hour later I went up to see you with a cup of tea.

I walked straight in to find that, for once in your life, you were not writing. I fact, you weren't in your study at all. I frowned and set the tea down on your desk. A very formal looking piece of writing on your desk caught my eye, I picked it up to have a further look at it. At the top it said,

"The Address of General Washington to the people of America on his declining the Presidency of the United States."

That's when you walked in.

"Washington's resigning." You muttered from behind me, sounding bitterer than winter limes.

"I can see." I murmured, placing your writing back on the table. "I brought you tea." I said, holding the cup up to you. You dismissed it with a wave of your hand and I sighed in disapproval.

"I don't know what I'm going to do without him." You admitted, slumping down into your chair, looking as though you'd lost a race you'd bet everything on. And in a way you had, George had been your saviour, literally pulling you out of the trenches and helping you make a name for yourself; when all you wanted to do was fight on the battlefield.  
"Washington has been with me every step of the way since I arrived in America. I knew him before I knew you. I have no idea how to guide myself through this world of politics and people constantly judging me without him there to set me on the right path." You continued, burying your face in your hands.

I put my hands on your shoulders and said, "You were making your way in this world before you met Washington, you just didn't realise it. Maybe this will be a good thing. Standing on your own two feet will open new opportunities for you. Make you become your own person."

You flew out of your seat, making me stumble back a couple of steps.

"They will say he's weak, his position is so unique. How can he leave right now?" You almost shouted. I was shocked by your actions. Your hands were clenched into fists while your arms flew wildly around your head. I took a step away from you in fear.

"Are you worried about yourself, or Washington?" I asked you softly, trying to quell your anger. It did not work.

"I DON'T KNOW!" You shouted at me, your eyes burning in the light of the setting sun. I took a step away from you purposefully, taken aback by your outburst, and put my hands protectively around my blooming stomach. I was pregnant with our sixth child at the time, William. My face must have looked a picture, terrified of my own husband. Yes, Alex, you terrified me. You had no idea that your voice could intimidate and paralyze people in that way. You knew you were a force to be reckoned with in the courtroom and cabinet meetings, but you had no idea until that moment that one of the reasons people felt threatened by you was because of your voice.

The moment after you shouted at me you froze in your place. Your breathing was heavy and your eyes filled with fury, but within a few seconds of stillness your face softened into shame and guilt that could rival Macbeth's. You looked at me desperately and fell to your knees in front of me. You leaned your forehead against my stomach and took my hands in yours.

"I'm so sorry. Forgive me. I forgot myself." You begged of me in a broken whisper. I stroked your hair and pulled you up to look at me.

"This is not you Alexander." I told you, purposely making you feel the humiliation and remorse you deserved. You nodded and looked down at your feet.

"But-" I started, lifting your head up so that your gaze met mine. "You have every right to be angry that Washington is resigning." You closed your eyes and let my words wash over you. "You are stronger than you know my love. And whether or not George is by your side, you have been guiding yourself since you were born. You do not need him to succeed."

You pressed a kiss to the top of my head, and I let you wrap your arms around me.

"Don't do any work tonight." I whispered. "Come and spend the evening with the kids and me. They do not see you often enough, and I fear they have forgotten what you look like."

"Am I a bad father?" You asked me in a fractured murmur, voicing what I knew was your worst fear. You grew up without a father to look up to you in your life, a drunk gambling seaman who didn't know the worth of his son. The he deserted you and your mother when you were ten. Despite him never doing a single thing for you, it still broke your heart when he left. It was your greatest fear that one day you'd become him. A shadow to the children that looked at you and dreamed of a loving man who adored them. I shook my head against your body.

"No. You are not. I think sometimes you just forget you are one." I whispered. You tightened your arms around me further.

We spent the night with the children together, playing cards and telling stories by the fire. When it reached the children's bedtime you helped me and the maid put them to sleep. Philip and Angie stayed awake with us for another hour, Philip played piano with me while Angelica drew her fantasy worlds in the drawing pad we got her for her birthday. I took Angie up to bed while you and Philip continued to talk, and when I came back down, I found you alone on the sofa, with a soft smile on your face. I slumped down next to you, my growing belly making it increasingly harder to do simple tasks, and rested my head on your shoulder. You wrapped your arm around me and pressed a kiss to my forehead.  
"What's that smile for?" I asked, watching the flames cast dancing shadows across the pale walls.  
"Our Philip's smitten for a girl." You remarked, humour echoing in your voice.  
"So he told you then?" I said in disbelief. The unusual relationship that you and Philip have has always perturbed me. You can argue over politics for hours, and then confide secrets in each other confidently. It was similar to the relationship of siblings, one I knew of personally, having two sisters and several brothers myself. You looked down at me in surprise.  
"You knew?" You asked in incredulity. I nodded.  
"I'm his Mother, I can sense these things." I disclosed, an amused smile catching my lips.

"Well, who's the lucky girl then? That he wouldn't tell me." I asked, curiosity filling me. Your smile grew into a grin.  
"Theodosia Burr." You said, your voice teetering on the edge of amusement. I sat up in shock, and then groaned as my back told me off for putting so much weight on it, I shrank back into your embrace.  
"Really?" I asked suspiciously. Philip knew of the odd rivalry you and Aaron held. Was it possible he could fall for the daughter of his Father's competition? You nodded.  
"Wow." I breathed.  
"I know." You agreed.  
"Where has he even seen her?" I asked, my mind spinning with the unexpected news.  
"Apparently he spotted her at the Congress Ball last month. He knew who she was right away, and if it wasn't for that, he would've asked her to dance." You looked down at the floor sadly.  
"Do you think my life of politics and arguing is restricting our children's lives?" You murmured. You sounded distressed, everything you'd normally be feeling worsened by George's resignation.  
"What do you mean?" I asked, placing my hand comfortingly on top of yours.  
"I mean, because of my rivalry with Burr, my son couldn't ask the girl he likes to dance. Alex Jr got heckled on his way home from school last week. And Angie was hit by a boy last year whose father's a republican." You listed off, tapping your fingers nervously against mine. "What if my life is ruining our children's?" I was silent, considering myself carefully for a moment.  
"I think that that's a sacrifice we have to make. For them to live in a world that you have created and shaped for them, they will have to receive a few knock-backs along the way." I said slowly, pondering each word carefully.

"What if he feels he can never be with her because of Aaron and me?" You asked, your face the picture of doubt.  
"Well, they're both only fourteen, it's quite likely that he'll have forgotten about her within a month, and will be onto the next girl." I suggested. You shook your head.  
"No. He's my son. We fall for one girl, and that's that. She's the one. Like you for me." You argued. I smiled gently, thinking back to fond memories of our first few days together.  
"Well if he's your son, do you really think that he'll stop trying to get her then?" I counter-argued. You frowned in confusion. "I mean, when you were courting me, did the fact that you were penniless and my father was rich ever stop you?" I asked. You shook your head. "That's what I thought. So I hardly think that you and Burr's rivalry is going to stop him from trying to get _his_ girl."

You looked shocked, but convinced, so I settled back down into your side and pondered having Theodosia Burr as my daughter-in-law and Aaron and his wife as our in-laws. I snorted at the thought.

"What's funny?" You asked.  
"The Burr's could be our in-laws then." I muttered, trying to hold back my laughter. Your face paled, I giggled at your reaction.  
"Well then," You started, swallowing nervously, "that should be interesting." You turned to look at me, and we both fell about laughing simultaneously.

"I thought you would have a problem with the girl he's fallen for being a Burr." I noted, when we had finally composed ourselves. You shook your head.  
"I thought I would too when he first said it. But then I imagined what it would have been like if you had been 'off-limits'. And it was hell. So I told him to ignore the fact that Burr and I don't get along, and go for Theodosia."

I smiled proudly at you.  
"What's that smile for?" You asked.  
"You've grown up so much. I still remember the intelligent but womanizing soldier that caught my eye at a ball all those years ago." I admitted. You smiled at me.  
"All thanks to you, my love." You said, and pressed a kiss to my head.

I'd like to say that you _were_ the amazing father that you longed to be. That you devoted your life to spending time with your children and making them happy. And they are happy, they've all lived such privileged, memory-filled lives that they'll look back on fondly when they grow old. But you could never be in their lives as much as you wanted to be. You spent your time providing us with the money and advantage that you could from your job, giving them a good education and a childhood better than most children lead.  
It's just sad to see you throw away the life you planned for yourself in a single stroke of a pen.

Yours

Eliza

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 **What did you think? Tell me in a review. Look out for the next update on Wednesday.**


	8. Letter 8 - The Deceit

**Hey Guys. Seeing as this a small chapter, I'm going to post another letter straight after this. In this letter, Eliza tells Alexander of her pain when she hears of the rumours that he cheated on her.  
I hope you enjoy it!**

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Dear Alexander Hamilton

You collided into my life like a great burning planet, the burning sun being pulled by Apollo and his chariot. You have never been a quiet or discreet man, I don't think you've ever had a tranquil moment in your life, not on purpose at least. And throughout our time together, you have continued to live a large life, determined to be seen by all, in all your true colours. But never before had you used your fire to obliterate something that you loved.

We survived twelve years of marriage. Twelve years of marriage and five children. A greater commitment to each other could never have been made, a greater love has never been known. And yet you seemed to scorn all of that, as if we were a commonplace lie. You mocked and ridiculed it in the cruellest way you could.  
You replaced me.

You spent a whole year sleeping with her; whilst also sleeping with me. You spent a whole year telling me constantly that I was the only one, that I always had been and I always would be. The same thing you'd been telling me since our wedding day. Now, as I look back upon that time, I can see clearly how you were lying, spitting deceits and falsehoods through your teeth.

You kept it from me for five years. Five long years of cover up and lies. 1825 days of claiming your love for me while knowing that you had already betrayed it.

And then early this year, rumours spread and reached my ears. They said that you had cheated on me, that you had slept with another woman. For a month we both ignored them. I didn't believe them at first, but with every passing day they grew more and more realistic. I came up with more and more reasons for why you would have done it: I was away with my family, you were alone without me or Angelica or the kids. And you were obsessed with people loving you. She was probably just another one to add to your list. Maria Reynolds. Maybe you thought that this could kick start your legacy, people writing stories and remembering you for years to come.

It was only once I received a letter from Angelica, that I confronted you on them. The rumours had reached England. And Angelica was both pissed and heartbroken. She advised me to talk to you, to learn the truth, and understand if my husband was still the committed and devoted man I married. Or if I was married to a womanizing, cheating asshole. My sister gave me the courage to stand up to you, to make you tell me the truth.

I gave you a chance Alexander. I gave you a chance to redeem yourself and tell me the truth. But instead you told me more lies. You did the worst thing you could have, and told me that you never cheated on me. You spat in my face with your lies, you made me feel like another pawn in your games Alexander.

We spent the next six months pretending as if nothing had ever happened. But we were tense Alex, everyone noticed it, the children noticed it. It put everyone on edge, and only fuelled the rumours further. We were not in love with each other during those months. Maybe you loved me Alex, but I lost all respect and allegiance to you in those dark months.

And now I don't know who I am anymore. Am I Eliza Schuyler? Or am I Eliza Hamilton? Because I cannot bear to decide. If I choose Eliza Schuyler, will I lose you forever? I cannot imagine a future without you in it. But if I choose Eliza Hamilton, have I let you win? You don't deserve me Alex, you decided that when you slept with another woman, and lied about it to me for five years.

From

Elizabeth

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 **What did you think? Tell me in a review!**


	9. Letter 9 - The Reynolds Pamphlet

**In this letter, Eliza tells Alexander of the day she read the Reynolds Pamphlet, and how it affected them as a family.**

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Dear Alexander

The worst thing about your affair was not how you defied me, nor how you broke and discarded our bond of love and trust like it was a Christmas cracker. The worst thing was not those months of indecision and confusion. The worst thing was not all the tears, oh the amount of tears I shed over you Alexander; you could create a new ocean with them.  
No. The worst thing was the way you split our family. How you forced our children to look at you, their beloved father, and question everything they'd grown up knowing. They thought you were the most caring and loving person there was. They adored you. You swung them round from your forearm and let them climb upon your shoulders on our family walks. You helped them with their homework and read them bedtime stories when you found the time. I did more for them through the years than you did. But the bond you had with our children was undeniable. They truly loved you.

But the day you published the Reynolds Pamphlet was the day you broke our family.

Can you believe that I gave birth to our sixth child only 21 days before you admitted to the world that you had cheated on me? You had a brand new child, a son, to love and adore. And instead you wrote the Reynolds Pamphlet and told everyone that you betrayed our family.

I had managed to keep the rumours from three of our then six children. William, our youngest, who was born in the same month the Reynolds Pamphlet was published, wasn't born when the rumours started. John was only five at the time, so it was easy to hide it from him. James was nine and had an eternally curious mind. It was incredibly hard to keep him in secret, but I managed it.

But our three eldest, they all knew of the rumours. Philip was fifteen, Angelica thirteen, and Alex Jr was eleven. Philip heard about the rumours before I did. He never spoke to me about it until he could see that I had found it. He came and whispered in a brittle voice close to tears, he asked if the rumours were true. I told him that I didn't know, and he hugged me like he was ready to replace you, to become the man of the family. Angie and Alex Jr were oblivious to it all, but I knew it was only a matter of time until they found out. I told them together that there were rumours that you had cheated on me, and that you had denied it to me. I never told them if I believed you.

You never told me that you were publishing the Reynolds Pamphlet. I wish that you had the guts to tell me before you published it. So that I could find out from you instead of from ink on paper. But it turns out that America's Great War veteran, Washington's trusted treasury secretary, the respected lawyer Alexander Hamilton: is a great coward.

I woke up on the 25th August 1797 to William crying in his cot. I was still weak, but you were nowhere to be found, to so I crawled out of bed and consoled him. Our maid Martha came up with the post, five letters for you, three for me, and a 95 page thick pamphlet. Her hand shook as she passed me your public confession, and her eyes were filled with pity.

I read every page of it. Every single conceited and selfish word of it. I rocked William back to sleep while I read your confession, and wondered what I was going to do with my life. Philip came running in first, his face red and his eyes furious. He saw my face, and he knew that I knew. I smiled at him weakly and told him that you and I both still loved him. That everything would be okay. He shouted "BULLSHIT!" in my face. I saw you in him instead of me, and feared that one day he would make the same mistakes that you have.

My family had always said that Philip was the exact replica of you, and physically, I could agree with that. He had your eyes and your hair, your face, your height. But never once had he shown to be like you. He wasn't particularly ambitious, he had never shouted or shown frustration. He was calm and placid, like me.  
But then he shouted at me, pure fury and betrayal controlling his every move, his heart and mind being taken over by a blizzard of pain. I was so scared, so so scared. Scared that my son, my beloved first born, would become you.

He never cried once, he was so fueled by hatred that he was running on it. I saw you in his eyes, and it was unbearable to watch. I attempted to console him, to calm him down, but nothing was working. Eventually he ran out, I didn't know where he had gone, but I feared that it was to find you. I showed the rest of the children over breakfast, except for John, the pamphlet, and explained to them what this meant. I told them that you still loved all of them, so very much. And that was the truth.

They all cried, Angie being the first as she understood it the most, and what it meant for us as a family. Then they all started crying, and I hugged them in a vain attempt to calm their sorrow.  
I did not cry with them. I did not cry when they left the house for school. Instead I read the pamphlet. Specifically, one sentence, over and over again.  
It said, "Oh my God I feel more for you than myself and wish I had never been born to give you so much unhappiness." A single sentence, from a letter that Maria Reynolds, the woman you had your affair with, sent you, had destroyed me.  
I could not, and still can't fathom why she would be apologizing? After all, you slept with her just as much as she slept with you. She had no idea her husband would exploit you in this way. Did she really believe that it was her fault that you were in this position? It only reminded me what a selfish person you are.

You can betray me. You can toss our love to the side like a piece of trash. You can rip my heart into a thousand shreds and stamp on them. You can disregard our wedding vows like we never made them. But you cannot use the best thing that ever happened to you, your beloved family, your faithful and devoted family, to save yourself. That I cannot and will not stand for.

Until I can decide whether or not I still love you Alexander, until then, we will be the Schuylers. We will not be the Hamilton family. We will not be _your_ family. We will be the family that _you_ tossed aside. The family that _you_ decided was worth less than your career.

We are the Schuyler's. The family Alexander Hamilton left behind.

And we will wear that name with pride.

From

Elizabeth Schuyler

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 **Did you like it? Remember to tell me in a review!**


	10. Letter 10 - The Healing Time

**Confession time: I apologise for the temporary break I had to take from the site. Work piled up and I had to take some time off to focus on my own life, rather than fictional/historical characters' ones. But I'm back, and hopefully back to regular updates. However, from now one I think they'll be once a week rather than twice a week. This seems to work better for my schedule.**

 **Again, apologies. But without further ado, here is your next chapter!**

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Dear Hamilton

It has been three months since you wrote the Reynolds Pamphlet, finally nearing the usually joyous time of Christmas. You spend your nights getting wasted in the tavern, and then you come back and sleep in your study (you seemed to have relapsed back to your days before you met me, before you became focused on the war and politics). You leave the house early to avoid me, spending your whole day at work. Occasionally I've woken up to the sound of William crying in his little box room. I get out of bed to go to console him, and find you there already, attempting to rock him back to sleep vainly in your arms. I whisper to you that he needs feeding, and you pass him to me silently, never looking in my eye, never betraying a hint of emotion. Then you leave the room. And that may be the last time I see you for the next week.

The first month after the Reynolds Pamphlet was hard. Harder than I ever thought a marriage with you could be. We struggled to adjust to this new regime and life we were living. There was a consistent air of disappointment and sorrow hanging over our heads. As if somehow we'd let ourselves down. People stared at us in the streets when the kids and I went out for walks, people whispered as we walked past, there was always a new article in the newspaper criticising you. Philip started to get into fights, concerningly with boys older than him, and refused to talk to me about it.

Slowly, our family was crumbling apart.

But then we started to get used to life. We held our heads high in public, people began to forget about the scandal. The empty spot in our bed remained empty, but I no longer woke up expecting you to be next to me. Philip got into fewer and fewer fights. The house got noisier and back to how it used to be, no longer did that foreboding sadness remain with us. We learnt how to live without you, we learnt that your reputation didn't make our family who we are, we live outside of you now.

And now it's been three months and I've almost forgotten what it was like to see you every morning, and eat breakfast with you and the kids, and watch as you cradled William to sleep while I lay on the bed, exhausted from a day tutoring all of our children. But I can't help but look at your closed study door when I know you're in there, and resist the urge to make you a cup of tea and bring it up to you.

I'm not saying that I've stopped loving you. God Alex, I still love you with every piece of my heart. But I also hate you with all my being, for putting me through a lifetime's worth of pain, for nearly destroying our family.

Recently, I've been thinking back upon the day after the Pamphlet was published. You hadn't come back home the previous evening, and only showed up the next morning, looking sheepish and afraid. The kids had gone for a walk with the governess before I had woken up. I came down the stairs with William in my arms, he had gone back to sleep the moment I had fed him, but I wanted to hold him for a bit before I had to get up and face the world. At the bottom of the stairs, Martha was waiting for me.  
"I'm sorry Miss." She said quickly and apologetically. "I tried not to let him in, he doesn't deserve to come back into this house. But he insisted, and technically he's still my master."  
"Who?" I asked, confused out of my mind.  
"Mister Hamilton, Miss." She said, her eyes burning. All the air left my lungs when she said your name. I stood there dumbfounded, unsure of what to do with myself. I couldn't even picture you. You were like a forgotten dream.  
"Miss?" Martha asked, interrupting my moment. "Shall I tell him to leave?" I shook my head without thinking.  
"I should speak to him." I told her without wanting to speak to you. It was the last thing I wanted to do. But my heart knew it was the right thing to do.

I walked into the parlour, where Martha told me you would be. You were facing the window, your back to me, standing awkwardly in the centre of the room like this wasn't you house. In a way, it wasn't. You'd rejected everything to do with us when you wrote that blasted pamphlet. Your shoulders were drooped, and even from the back I could tell that you were tired. Then you turned around and I saw that it wasn't tiredness, but fear. You were afraid.

"I got your pamphlet." I said coldly, hugging William closer to me. My own words managed to surprise me. I'd planned this confrontation a thousand times in my mind. I'd planned to be soft, not showing my anger, but my disappointment. Instead, my anger got the better of me, and I decided to tear you to pieces verbally.

Your blue-violet eyes looked down at the floor in shame and I continued. "What the hell is wrong with you Alex? You had an affair and decided to publish it so that the whole country could see it? What on Earth compelled you to do that?" You didn't say anything, continuing to look at the ground like it could save you from my every fury. So I continued. "And you had an affair! You got me pregnant while you were still sleeping with another woman? You're a sick bastard."

You stood silent, flinching at every single one of my harsh but necessary words.

"Say something." I whispered desperately after a minute of silence, my anger dissolving into sorrow at your lack of your usual display of opinion. And still you were silent.

"You know, I saved every letter you wrote me? From the moment I read them I knew you were mine. You said you were mine. I thought you were mine." I whispered softly, and finally you looked at me. If you could break my heart twice, you would have in that moment, for what I saw in your eyes was more pain than I ever thought was possible.

And yet, I was still filled with so much hate and repulse for you that I knew what I needed to say to deliver a defining blow.

"Do you know what Angelica said when she read what you'd done? She said, 'You have married an Icarus, he has flown too close to the sun."

It sickened me to see how your face dropped when I said that, you were both in love with my Sister's respect for you and your own pride. When Angelica's disappointed in you, you actually look disappointed. When your pride and reputation is at stake, you are saddened. But when I'm angry at you. When I'm furiously heartbroken, you don't even look at me.

In the inner workings of my heart, I'd always known that you loved both my sister and I, but my mind chose to ignore it. Look where it left me, broken twice in one day.

Still you remained silent.

"The great Alexander Hamilton. The ruthlessly articulate Alexander Hamilton, who always has something to say, has been reduced to pitiful silence." I spat at you maliciously. I watched as a single tear rolled down your face as you screwed your eyes shut in defeat.

But even then, when you'd reduced me to ruin and crippled my heart, even in those moments when I despised you most, I still could not stop loving you. I looked at your face and saw what my life revolved around, I watched you cry and it pained me, I defended your name when others talked shit about you. I let you walk all over my heart again and again and again, and I knew that I would never stop you.

"I'll always love you Alex, that I cannot change, no matter how much I want to at the moment. But I can isolate you, I can make you feel the betrayal and hurt that overwhelms me everyday. I can make you watch as your children learn things about you that I hid from them all these years. I can force you to go to work and face the colleagues that once respected you, but now think the worst of you. I can ruin your life in the way you ruined mine." I said softly, but ruthlessly to you. I was showing no mercy.

"But once you have learnt, once you understand the shame and disgrace and uselessness I have felt. Then, maybe, we can rebuild our life together. Just you, me and the children. And I will learn to trust you again. as you will learn to value me again." I said louder, but with a comforting, more loving tone. And the hope I saw in your violet eyes reflected the desperate hope in my brown eyes.

"Prove me right Alexander, prove my heart right. Prove to me that you are a better man than they say. Let me allow myself to love you again." I whispered finally, taking one lasting look at you before turning away from you. Letting you make a choice. You could walk away, and leave your family behind. Go live your life alone, or with another woman and start a new life far away. Or you could stay, you could choose me, you could choose us. You could earn forgiveness and a second chance.

I thank God every night that you chose to stay.

Love your wife

Eliza Hamilton

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 **What did you think? Please let me know in a review, they literally keep me motivated to write more. Look out for the next chapter next week.**


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